Fields of Gold
by S.N. Rainsworth
Summary: If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares into you. A single blight causes a change in his future, and as he delves into the darker parts of his mind, he finds that light is found in the most mundane of places. / E/W. H/Hr. AU-ish.
1. Prologue

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa  
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

* * *

**Fields of Gold  
**_"And if you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes into you."  
- Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

Breathe.

It was a quite the concept, now that he thought about it. When he allowed himself to inhale, he caught the faint, coppery tang and taste of blood in his mouth and nostrils. Splattered on the floor, he stared down at the mutilated body before him with blank, uncomprehending eyes. There was a quickly growing wet spot in his side, even as he leaned against the wall to hold himself upright, the sheer amount of pain he was in, the _pain_

_a hole in my side a hole in my side just breathe_

was encompassing. Of course, his mind didn't work as it used to. There was a certain amount of..._gone _inside of him, swallowing up the corners of his brain and the dark, damp that he held inside of him. He closed his eyes and focused, a slight crease in his brow while he tried not to throw up. Even as he relaxed, the muscles in his arm and legs and shoulders loosing their tense stance, he felt as though someone had stabbed him all over again.

They got a pretty good chunk out of him. Or that may have been his imagination.

Another dead end caught him in the middle of his latest mission. It had been nearly a week since he had last gone out, recovering from an ailing wound to his shoulder that was healing slowly. He decided to go ahead with the mission instead of letting it heal completely, because now that he was still alive and fine he _needed _to get going, keep working.

He rubbed the heel of his free arm in his eye, uncaring that the metal creaked in the dark of the room. He had to get out of here somehow. Perhaps if he was lucid enough, he could transmute the skin of the wound together in a makeshift treatment, like he did in the mine. But this wasn't the same. He couldn't, simply because he wouldn't.

He groaned, turning on his side, the smell of blood dripping down the edges of the floorboards and trailing their way past white, chalky lines and the awful, _awful _moaning making him go nearly insane. Sparks crackled underneath his fingertips, barely. When he closed his eyes and breathed in

_blood spilling too much too much too much_

he could hear his heartbeat under all the cartilage. Steady, always there. He inhaled loudly, shallowly, letting the darkness creep along the edges of his eyelids and somehow creeping up on his heart. The intact sound of something dripping kept him from going any further down than he was. A moment of silence, laid still in a single moment of weakness. His weakness.

Then, an ear-splitting explosion.

He felt the heat on his face, felt the roar of fire lick across his battered skin, saw the orange-red glow from behind his eyes. The sound of repeated, perfectly synchronised footsteps hit his earbuds, and he wanted to groan; _why couldn't he be left alone? _There was the burn and the way that something tickled his face, making him want to sneeze in a drunken daze. He was loosing too much blood. His blood, on the floor, creeping along the edges of the floorboards and past white, chalky lines.

If he opened his eyes a smidgeon, he would have seen dark irises peer back at him, lit by the glow of the fire.

"Hold on," said a distant, almost familiar voice. "We've got you."

* * *

Edward felt the warmth surround him, like a hand-knit blanket in the middle of the night. There was still a chill to his bones, but he could feel himself defrosting after calming himself down and just breathing. The pain, of course, wouldn't go away. Like an ebb, it stood on the brink of subconsciousness, peering at him like he was a real person, like he was a real breathing human. When he opened his eyes—with mild difficulty—the dim lights of his usual hospital room greeted him like an old friend.

And so did something else.

"I see you're awake," a gruff, weary voice said from his right. "It's been a week, Fullmetal. They thought you were never going to get up this time." A pause. "Then again, that's what they always think."

Edward didn't answer. He stared up at the ceiling and exhaled deeply, like he was in thought. His eyes were misted over with a mix of different somethings that made it impossible to tell apart from his feelings and his needs.

Roy Mustang continued like it was no problem.

"You did a fine job," he said amiably, sitting with his legs crossed on the visitor's chair beside him. "The murderer was caught. He managed to stab you, though. You lost a lot of blood." If Edward managed to turn around, he would see that his commanding officer was in no better shape than he was. Dark rings shadowed even darker eyes. Wrinkles started to form on his forehead, only to be covered by a mop of unruly hair. His dark blue coat was taken off, placed around his shoulders.

Roy sighed and leaned forward. "Stop pretending like you can't hear me, Edward. I know you're there."

This time, the blond actually spoke back. "It helps better," he started, voice hoarse like it was unused. "I keep thinking that I'll throw up blood any second. How much did I lose?" By this time, he looked down at his own body, saw his limbs dressed in a pale blue shirt and comfort pants. He tried, with difficulty, to get up by himself. Pushing the heel of his hand against the bed, Edward propelled himself up and held a hand to his side before hissing in pain.

"A _lot,_" Roy replied flatly. "I'm at no disclosure to tell you how much. You'd faint."

Edward shot him a dry look. "Surely, it wasn't that bad."

The General shot him a warning look, and Edward turned away, choosing to stare at the fraying hem of the shirt that he was wearing. His flesh hand—his left hand—fingered his side where the remains of the wound once was, a hard bandages wrapped firmly across his abdomen. Edward raised a hand to look at his automail, which had been polished and cleaned, and he'd say that his nurses had gotten tips from Winry; when he clenched his fingers, they felt better oiled.

He blinked and saw that there was a bandage—square and small, taped to his face. He reached up to touch it, fingers ghosting over what could have been. He remembered that cut.

"I don't get why you're doing this to yourself, Fullmetal." Roy said, breaking him out of his reverie. "At this rate, you'll kill yourself before you have the chance to find Alphonse."

His hands fisted in the bedsheets. "Shut up," he rasped out. "I'll find him, okay? Are you done with your check up?" He felt as though there were a million bolts of lightning hitting his chest; the mention of his little brother caused him to go on overdrive, and Roy knew that fully well.

The bastard eyed him dubiously for a moment. "There's a report of another country, holding in some sort of new-found alchemy," he started, not continuing until Edward turned around to look him in the eye. "The Amestrian that let loose all the information is in captivity. He says that there's this school, filled with talking armour and 'magical' people that shoot blue sparks."

Edward flinched. "Are you serious? W-where is this guy?"

"The nearest mental hospital," came the brisk answer.

"Don't fuck around with me, Mustang," he said, narrowing his eyes dangerously, the barest remains of a scowl still prominent on his features when he frowned.

"I thought it was a stupid joke at first," Roy admitted, leaning back. "But the man kept on insisting. Babbled some odd words or so, made these hand motions, and then was shot with a dart of anaesthesia." the dark-haired man took a deep breath. "And about five days later, another man shows up in my office, an order from General Grumman himself. Asking for help."

"For?" the blond questioned, feeling something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

"His school." Roy grimaced, licking his dry lips and placing his hands in his pockets. It was chilly in the room, Edward noticed, but he really couldn't find it in him to notice anything other than the cushion-y warmth of his bed. "A _magic _school, believe it or not. He waved his wand—don't look at me like that, I'm telling the truth—and blue sparks came out. Like alchemy. And they made a chair float."

Edward peered at him curiously.

"Their world is overrun with some monster, and they can't seem to get rid of him. One person in particular is under direct contact and threat. The headmaster of this particular school—also the founder and leader of the rebellious group against this monster—came to us because he had a powerful friend that told him to come by...and that help would be found here." Here, Roy grimaced. "I don't know what kind of help he expects with this war-torn country, but I'm not questioning."

"This friend?" Edward repeated, not liking the sound of what Mustang was leading to. In fact, it sounded scarily like a new mission. "Who is it? And why did the Fuhrer ask him to come to you?"

"Eighteen and still all these questions," Roy mused. The ailed blond gave him an acid stare. "His friend was your father, Hohenheim, and when Fuhrer Grumman heard, he sent the headmaster to our quarter. Because of you." Long, tapered fingers interlocked and was put underneath a square chin. "He wants a few of the officers to come by to his school and protect the boy that's under the threat."

"_Boy?_ You mean a kid?"

"Did I forget to mention that?" a dark eyebrow was raised. "Well, yes. A fifteen year old boy, in fact. Starting school this September. The question is whether you'll go or not. Of course, you'd have to stay in their headquarters or whatever, but you've had enough experience with..._uncomfortable _living situations, yes?"

The blond prodigy did not answer him, instead deciding to lean his head back on the pillow, strands of his hair sticking to his neck from it's wayward ponytail. He thought over his actions; his previous mission was only a few days ago, but his wound wasn't all that bad and neither was his automail. Other than that, all he had were a bunch of cuts, scrapes, and bruises. He was in good shape. Mustang was staring at him as if daring him to say no. He _wanted _Edward to say no, wanted it for a long time.

But Ed was much more pigheaded than that. He refused to stay still, heal completely. He could not let himself heal, could not let wounds close up, like the gaping hole in his chest or the sting that came from loneliness. He refused to forget those feelings, as long as Alphonse was gone from his side.

"What does this man give in return? Grumman doesn't give away his officers—especially me—for no reason. He would have said no on the first try." His tone was far from bragging or shallow; in fact, it was more of a tired, almost defeated admittance, like he couldn't believe that he had reached this far when he didn't want to.

"Knowledge," Roy replied, his tone simple. "Grumman saw this as an opportunity to see a whole other world, with different strategics and manpower. The headmaster—Bumbling something—seemed to know a lot, and offered a position in his school for us."

"A student? _Us?_ I decline to both."

Roy took a moment to study his protege. Whereas when he was two years younger, Edward would have flailed and screamed until his face was red, saying that he _absolutely positively fucking refused _to go on a mission like this. But eighteen-year-old Edward was different. He sat with this sort of burning stare that made you short of breath and with his hands folded neatly in his lap, face expressionless except for the casual inquiry or rare smile.

His subordinate had always been a hard book to read from the start, but now it was as if he had shut his pages completely. "It's one or the other, Fullmetal," he dead-panned. "And you wouldn't technically be a student...of the school. The headmaster knows that your intellect is far beyond a mere schoolchild's. You'd be of private tutoring. His and your own."

Shaped lips pursed in thought. Silence dawned on both men, neither of them showing the least bit of awkwardness in it. They had been through far worse and much more than to be slowed down by words. Edward scanned his room, familiar enough to be called his room. He thought of Winry, whom he hadn't seen in two months. And he thought of Alphonse, of his brother's face the day before he seemed to disappear completely off the face of the planet.

"I'll go," he said finally, voice echoing off the bare walls. Beside him, Roy's lips slanted upward.

* * *

_Better? Worse? You guys tell me. Please do, I'm rather interested to hear what you say about the revamp of FoG. There will be no Murder and Roland in this, sorry, mostly because I forgot where I was going with the old plot. And I know that if some of you, if you want to review, it has to be as an anonymous person. But if you are a part of ff dot net's society, leave your penname and I'll leave a review reply on in a PM on your profile page. _

* * *

**.:.**

**to be continued.  
**_11.25.11_


	2. Chapter I: Clouded Judgement

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa  
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

* * *

**Fields of Gold  
**_"The truth shouldn't be silenced to spare someone."  
- Latin Proverb_

* * *

Pale, thin fingers pressed gently against the side of his face, putting pressure against the wound that he had gotten. He winced; that would be a wound that would contribute a scar, if not at least a thin and nearly unnoticeable one. He felt out-of-place in his dark blue and gold twined uniform, the cotton fabric rubbing against his skin comfortably. Yet when he wore it, he felt as though he was a person placed in another empty vessel.

A week, it had been, ever since he was allowed to heal. Now, they were going to another country, another lead that he had for the small semblance that his brother was still alive. He would do anything to keep that illusion, even if it was just that—an illusion.

"Sir?" a female's cold and uncharacteristically soft voice said behind him, "The ambassadors from England are there. General Mustang is waiting for your arrival."

"Thanks, Lieutenant Colonel," he replied. Letting his arm drop to the side lifelessly, he turned to see the blonde sharpshooter stare at him questioningly. "Let's go. I don't want to keep them waiting."

Hawkeye nodded. She stepped aside so he could move out. He walked through the halls of the building noiselessly, despite the ever lasting click of Hawkeye's boots behind him. The closer he got to his destination, the more he left his mind wander off, allowing his feet to take him to their meeting place: The Fuhrer's office. He let himself think about his still-hurting wounds (because he had nothing else to think about) and he thought about Alphonse and the day before he disappeared, and he thought about going back home and doing something with his life.

"We're here, sir," Hawkeye said from beside him, ripping him out of his reverie. He turned to look at her slightly; that's when she took the opportunity to smile warmly at him, just a bit. "It'll get better, Edward. Just remember that." And leaving those comforting words for him to muse over, she left.

He tapped on the door lightly, opening it after ward without any permission. He knew that neither the Fuhrer nor the General cared about that stuff. As he came in, he closed the door behind him and saluted briefly. The sound of the door opening caused the occupants of the room to turn to look at him.

There were two men; one, a tall and spindly man with a great spout of a beard falling from his chin and odd clothing compromising of brightly coloured and shimmering drapes. Another, an equally tall man, dark-skinned (an Ishvalan?) with dark, almost black eyes peering at him curiously.

"Ah, Colonel Elric," Grumman said with faux surprise from behind his desk. "Nice to see that you were able to make it."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, sir," he said in reply, staring all the while at the new comers. Both of them must've been from the school, perhaps one of them the headmaster. His mind flashed to the scene of bloody bodies on the ground, a gun in his hands. Pure white snow crushed underfoot by heavy boots and artillery. Bright red soaking in a field of endless white.

"These are your accompaniments to their headquarters," Grumman motioned a hand toward the two nameless men. "Albus Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt."_Bumbling-something,_ he remembered Mustang saying. The headmaster. As if the old man knew what he was thinking, his blue eyes met his own. He stared at the wizened old man for a moment, not daring to back away. He was not one to back away from a fight.

"We'll be leaving shortly, if you don't mind," Mustang murmured from beside him. His only answer was a slight twitch of the nose.

Grumman stood up, chuckling deeply. "Well, I will leave you to your new mission, gentlemen. I trust I will see you soon enough." His eyes glinted behind his glasses, staring at both Mustang and Edward. Both men saluted once and murmured a sharp, "Yes sir."

"Good," the Fuhrer said, pleased. "Now, if you don't mind, I have an appointment to get too." He nodded his head toward Albus and Kingsley for a moment, then stepped beyond his desk and walked right out the door. Just like that. Edward followed his movements with a careful eye. He was sure Mustang was as well. Until they heard the click of the door, neither moved a muscle.

Then, slowly, he turned to look at Albus. Mustang was no doubt following him as well. "Colonel Edward Elric," he introduced himself shortly, keeping his voice frosty. "Fullmetal Alchemist."

"General Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist," said Mustang wryly. "And may I question how you will get us to your headquarters, as you have mentioned earlier?" He recognized the tone as Mustang's 'business voice'. As in, no funny business whatsoever. But this was way more than funny business—this was straight out unbelievable. And yet, they were still going.

"Ah, of course!" Albus Dumbledore cried, laughing. He seemed awfully happy and cheerful when his country was in it's most 'horryfing' time of it's history. Edward decided that he didn't like this Albus Dumbledore man at all. Of course, that was only his first assumption, made by one judgement only.

Albus took out something from inside the multiple folds of his clothing. Wrinkled fingers held in his palms a—was that a book? He stared down at it dubiously, raising an eyebrow. What was it going to do? Suck him in and transport him to another world? He kept quiet, waiting for an explanation to be given.

And it was. "This is called a port-key. Port-keys can be any old object—say, for example, a book or a sock—and they are charmed to take a person or a group of people to a designated place at a designated time." Albus' upper lip curled in a smile. "Very useful, port-keys are. But, if you miss one, you cannot get it back until it's been charmed again."

"This one will take us straight into Order headquarters," Kingsley said.

"How does it work?" Mustang bent down slightly to look at the book as if he was observing a new type of species ready to be divulged in. Albus kept on smiling serenely. He looked at both of them, keeping his face purposefully blank.

_(channelled energy through half-broken seals)_

He blinked.

He had simply been thinking about the port-key...for he was also an alchemist, and the type of alchemy that the two foreign men were doing—magic, they called it?—was rather unbelievable for him. He wasn't going to start on it without proof. Slowly, he thought about the port-key again.

_(placed by catatonic energy shifting earth's plates into a cut transmutation circle)_

A blond eyebrow rose slightly, focusing his energy on the conversation that Albus and Mustang were having. Apparently, all you had to do was touch it, and it would take you to your destination. Mustang touched a timid finger to the book's leather cover, but frowned when nothing happened. Albus merely chuckled.

"It's due to go off soon," he said amiably. "I suggest you all hold on." He gave a pointed look to Edward. Mustang also gave him a tight-lipped stare, his brows furrowed in concentration but still motioning for Edward to take hold of the book. He did so hesitantly, Kingsley following after him.

"So, will it do anything any time soon, or am I making a fool of myself for no reason?"

Kingsley gave a small laugh at his flat tone. "Just wait, and try not to move too much."

He turned to gaze questioningly at the man, but then he found himself being distracted by the sudden vicious _tug _in the lower region of his stomach. It pulled uncomfortably, and like a suction of some sort, he felt himself being squeezed through a sort of tube with a loud yelp. He heard someone else scream—_probably__Mustang_—and then, he closed his eyes as they fell through a sort of twisted dimension.

His hair blew in his face violently, and he tried to open his eyes but avoided doing so after he realized the pressure. Somewhere, in the corner of his mind, he was wondering how there could be such an invention; it didn't even feel like alchemy! Alchemy felt like electricity running through his veins...not this foreign, somehow sickening feeling...the feeling of something stripping his away of every single heartbeat in his body...

"_Let go! Quickly!__"_

He let go.

And then, he found himself being held up by his superior officer—whom he had just managed to avoid falling on—as they stood off-balance in a grey and blue room. He pushed himself off the darker-haired male, muttering a hasty apology while Mustang fixed his attire smoothly.

He stood still, uncaring that his wardrobe was messed up slightly. He never did like the uniforms.

His cheek stung a bit, but he looked around the room first. It looked more like the inside of a haunted mansion rather than the base of operations for a high-strung group against their main threat. He was unimpressed. The only thing that he got from this was that you could get away with holding something secret in here. It didn't look like people had lived in here for _years._ Paint peeled off the walls and a layer of thin dust covered the furniture.

A redheaded woman, plump, with a long and thin stick in her hand, stared at them for a moment before setting down her stick. There was a man next to her, redheaded as well. During their fall, the man had moved in front of the woman protectively, so he could only assume that they were married.

Their faces, however, cleared when they saw their company.

"Dumbledore!" the man said, relieved. "Good thing it was you, gave us quite the scare. I thought Death Eaters had gotten into the house!" Albus chuckled and said something in response; he didn't notice. Edward was too consumed with something else. When he heard the man speak, his words did not match the way his mouth moved. Like he was saying one language and Edward was hearing another.

"_Ni jetuciare shnazade,_" he murmured to Mustang, blinking when he found that he heard himself speak another language but found that he understood anyway. Mustang gave him an odd look, then tried to speak for himself.

"_Kie ni buira ma dshce, ho zhuoe seonsgue._"

Mustang wasn't quiet enough. The unfamiliar, foreign language caught the attention of the strangers, and then the redheaded woman addressed Albus, "Who are they?"

"Ah, these are our new Order members," said the old man. Edward stared at his mouth, fascinated by the somewhat grotesque moving of his lips and the unequality of his words. "Colonel Elric and General Mustang. From Amestris." At their dubious looks, he added, "They're friends of mine. Well, Colonel Elric is the _son _of my friend, I should say..."

"_Ne, Dumbledore,_" the blond started, thanking god that he remembered the man's name, "_Juoe ho jiyeo jhese ceta qui zho?_"

Albus smiled in apology. "I'm sorry, my dear boy! I forgot to do the other part of the translation spell...of course we wouldn't be able to understand...I did the first part when you all walked in your president's room..."

"_Ni_ _ceta,_" Mustang nodded.

Taking out his wand, there was a moment's notice where he waved it in a simple swishing motion and mumbled some words that sounded suspiciously like humming under his breath. Edward didn't feel any different, but he wasn't going to take chances. He checked himself over before speaking again, this time in the English language. "Hello," he said easily, with the traditional accent. "My name is Edward. No need to call me Colonel."

"Roy," the dark-haired man followed after ward. "And it's a pleasure to be doing business with you." His voice was cut and sounded like it was a recording; toneless, business-like, like he had repeated many times over and over to himself. "I hope we won't have to stay here long."

It may have been rude, but they all knew the meaning behind his words; _the faster the war gets done. We have our own things to take care_ of.

"Molly, would you please show them a place to stay?"

The redheaded woman flushed. "Oh—oh! Yes, yes, of course, if you'd follow me..."

Albus smiled at them for one last time. Edward averted his eyes in response. At first he didn't move, so Mustang had to take him by the arm lightly and push him in the direction Molly was going, impatient and most probably tired. There had been a suicide bomb at one of the battlefields in Drachma—part of Mustang's unit. The man had much paperwork to fill, and there were many deaths that were probably hanging over his head.

Molly led them past a series of doorways, all as old and dusty as the rest of the house. Honestly, it felt like the whole thing would collapse any moment. There was a stifling silence between the three of them; you could cut it with butter knife. Finally, Molly said, "So you're both from the military, correct...?"

"Yes," Mustang answered. "One part of the military that's considered more advanced than the rest."

"Oh." She seemed lost for a second, then composed herself. They went up a flight of stairs. "You both look awfully young to be in the military..." Out of the corner of his eye, Edward say her stare at them briefly in concern. He did not say anything, and decided to let Mustang answer the questions for him.

"I'm thirty-two. Edward is eighteen. We're past legal age in Amestris."

"_Eighteen?_" Molly jerked, turning around with her eyes wide in horror. "Oh, my! You're so young! What are you doing in such a dangerous position?" They had stopped moving and it was clear that she wasn't going to let this go, so the blond sighed.

"I joined when I was twelve, miss," he said evenly. "I hardly think that my current age is much of a headache now." At her rapidly paling face, he started to lose his impatience. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was pity and sympathy. Two of the things he hated most in the world. He nodded his head toward the stairs. "Mind taking us the rest of the way there?"

Molly blinked, her hand still covering her mouth. "O-oh, I just—"

They were cut off by a few extremely loud, verbally sparring voices. It sounded as though a few were male and one was female; the girl was shrieking loudly. "I can't_believe_ you, Ron! It's _just _a book, and it was none of your business to go around and—"

"Well, _maybe _if you'd _look up _and _watch _where you were—"

Both voices stopped. They belonged to a small, petite girl and a lanky, almost too-tall-for-his-age boy. They halted rather suddenly on the steps, so the people behind them—a girl and two other boys—stopped in their tracks as well. Immediately, he watched with amusement as the redhead—wait a minute, all of them were redheads except for one of the girls—with blue eyes changed his tone from annoyed to wary.

"Hi mum," he started, shifting on the spot. "Um...who is..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," the girl snapped, "Can't you say a proper hello?" She seemed too pissed off to be as suspicious as the other one—Ron, he remembered—was. Edward licked his dry lips and bit the bottom one slightly. It was a habit of his when he had an emotion that he couldn't properly well show, be it anger or anxiety or happiness. And right now, he was not the most patient of their group.

"This is Edward and Roy," Molly said amiably, motioning to them both. "They'll be joining the Order for a while." The wariness and suspicion disappeared from Ron's eyes, but Edward had a feeling that it hadn't disappeared completely. He bowed his head slightly, and Roy greeted them with a, "Nice to meet you."

He elbowed Edward slightly, causing the blond to grunt. His discomfort was clearly shown on his face, but he said shortly, "Pleasure." and left it at that. After all, they were only doing this for looks, right? The General had a reputation to maintain. Before any of them could get to introduce themselves—which was something he really didn't need, just more names to memorize—Molly said, "You guys get downstairs quickly. Dinner's on the table."

The kids nodded and the two military men moved aside to let them pass. When they were gone, Edward turned to Roy and looked slightly confused. He decided to try something out and said in low tones to the man while Molly's back was turned, "_Dinnare? Ne, kisama todaoe ho kie nipanos?_"

"_Yeh._" Mustang murmured back. Molly glanced at their whispered conversation uneasily and interrupted with, "Would you two like to come in for dinner as well?"

"No thanks, we already ate," Edward answered. Molly nodded in response, looking thankful after they had stopped in front of a slightly ruined door. It was like all colour was muted from the world, he mused. Molly still looked a tad bit relieved, but he couldn't really blame her—after all, they were the strangers, and it seemed that these people had problems of their own—depending on the way that those kids were fighting with each other on the stairs.

Molly left them in silence, and Edward sighed as he looked around the room. "I hope the old coot remembers to bring our luggage," he said, fingers ghosting over the rickety structure of the wall. His nose crinkled in displeasure. "What kind of fucked up place is this?"

"Nice to see your bad mouth hasn't been left behind," Mustang walked toward a boarded window and inspected it, his eyes glancing over every crevice of the appendage. "Besides, I think you'll have more worry than _clothes _on this trip."

He scoffed. "And neither will you?" They were in some weird place with _weird _people and he was probably countries away from Winry. The only good thing about this is that he would be able to find Alphonse all the quicker. "How much longer until we go to the school?"

"A week, perhaps two at best."

The blond nodded. "Okay. What's the plan?"

Mustang frowned. "Excuse me?"

At this, Edward turned around, raising a shaped eyebrow. "You really think that I was stupid enough to believe that you wouldn't come without some back-up plan? You don't really think we're just here to gather information on magic and protect that Harry Potter kid, do you?" Mustang looked ready to answer, but a small thump was heard. Both military men stopped and their eyes trailed to the door, where the noise had originated.

Edward nodded at Mustang. He made his footsteps quiet, as they usually were. Mustang carried on casually, "This is a simple hit-and-run mission, Fullmetal. If you need to have a back-up plan, then make it yourself. I can't do all the work all the time." Mustang had enough paperwork back at Central, thank you very much.

He snorted softly, as to make the illusion that he was farther away from the door, not getting closer to it. In the same tone, he replied, "I'm still getting over the fact that you think at all. It must've taken a few years to come up with that whole escapade two years back, huh?"

"It did not," Mustang snapped, now feeling genuinely annoyed. He sobered slightly and finished with, "...it was just two years to come up with that."

"I prove my point." And as Edward gave him a smug little grin, he brought his automail fist while kneeling down toward the door; with a large bang and momentum, he smashed his fist so hard against the door that it almost shook in it's hinges. He heard two yelps of pain on the other side and in a flash, the door was open and he was faced with two redheaded twins.

There was a surprising amount of that colour today. He frowned and knelt down to their level again, noticing the fleshy-coloured substance in their hands and grabbing it while they were still frozen on the floor. He held it up, examining it in front of their faces. "If you're going to eavesdrop," he started, never taking his eyes off the bizarre auxiliary, "Do it less obviously next time, _ja?_"

He didn't give them time to respond, standing up instantaneously and shutting the door rudely in their faces. He held up the fleshy string like it was some sort of poisonous germ: _far _away from himself, with his nose screwed up in the way that it usually was when he discovered something unfavourable.

"Stupid kids," he muttered, throwing the item to Mustang, who caught it easily. "What the hell is that?"

He turned it around in his hands, not as hesitant as Edward had been. "No idea," he finally replied, putting it gently on the boarded windowsill. "But better to keep it away than to try it out for ourselves. It was probably something to help those guys spy on us, if the way they were holding it was any explanation." The blond grunted.

Mustang took in Edward's form, the square bandage on his cheek and the dark circles under his eyes. Tight-lipped, he sighed. "Go take a nap, Fullmetal. You look like shit."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," came the satiric answer. Even still, as Roy set his head against the wood of the window he heard the shuffle of movement and a body flopping down on one of the twin beds that were provided with the room. Edward needed his sleep—everyone in his team knew that the boy wasn't sleeping well. One time, Hawkeye had caught him in the middle of a nightmare, and that was in a small nap in the middle of the day. Who knows what went on at night time.

The least he could do was make sure that none of those burdens plagued his subordinate tonight.

* * *

Memories of sweet-smelling hair and impeccably soft hands filled his mind. He had barely gotten any sleep last night, instead vying to keep his breathing even as Mustang fell to his own bed almost drunkenly. They were both tired, but at least he wasn't tired enough to fall asleep the moment that he reached the bed. In fact, the bed seemed almost cold and hard, but he wasn't going to mention that.

About seven in the morning brought him to another problem; breakfast.

It was pretty obvious that neither him nor Mustang wanted to participate, but it was an old Amestrian custom to go and share a meal with your host. Even hosts from another world, it seemed. Edward wasn't about to break that tradition, especially after about a night filled with dreams of his mother.

He knew he probably looked horrible. At least yesterday, he guaranteed some warrant of respect. Now, in his plain civilian clothes, he looked much more vulnerable and approachable than ever. Add in the pale skin and dark shadows from not getting sleep and the cut on his cheek which had no healed, he must've looked like a sick man walking. He sat at the rickety dining table at current, hearing Molly bumble around in the kitchen to make food for twenty.

Stirring a spoon almost thoughtfully in his coffee cup, he smiled slightly at the thought of explaining to Molly what coffee was this morning. According to her, it was like a "pepper-up potion" (Truth knows what _that _is) but he explained it as one of the greatest drinks of mankind—once you got used to it. She still didn't seem to get it, so he had to make a cup of his own. It made him wonder, however, how much wizards didn't know about outside existence. They were shutting themselves off from the world, and that was never a good thing.

Immediately, that smile faded as another personnel sat beside him. A thin-haired man with golden eyes just like him, sparing him a questioning and sleepy glance as he settled himself in.

"Good morning," Remus Lupin said cautiously. He nodded deftly in Edward's direction as the blond continued to stir his coffee listlessly. "I take it you are part of the reinforcements that Dumbledore called yesterday?"

"Correct," he replied, bored. There really was nothing for him to do here except socialize and mingle, something that Mustang was much better at than himself. The golden-eyed man seemed to be taken aback at his tone, but then saw that Edward wasn't really paying attention to him; his eyes were glazed over, and with mild curiosity, Remus noted that he had golden eyes as well.

There was the possibility that this man, was, of course the same species as him...Remus shook his head. He had never heard of magic. How would he know about lycanthropy otherwise? Still, Lupin thought to himself that he would at least _try _after a little bit of warming up. The blond teen didn't look too kind to the rest of the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place.

"Remus!" Molly said, surprised, appearing at the doorway to the kitchen. Her wand was raised, a feast following the simple jerks of her wand. "I didn't know you were awake. Is Sirius up yet? Any of the kids?"

"You know Sirius," Remus started, shrugging. "He's going to sleep in until he falls off the bed or has to go to the loo. Oh, let me help you with that." As he brought out his own wand to help her with the load, Molly turned to Edward.

"And is your...partner coming down as well?" she asked kindly.

Edward simply shrugged. "He hasn't been getting sleep lately. I'd rather you not wake him."

This time, Molly _did _look worried. "But then, wouldn't he be hungry when he wakes up? I know for sure that Arthur and the boys do." The redheaded woman shook her head in frustration at her family as she laid down the platters of food carefully on the table. Edward's eyes were trained of the plates, looking slightly pale. His lips were in a tight line.

"He'll probably not be all that hungry," he said shortly. "I'll probably save a small portion for him, but if I know that bastard, he won't come down to eat anything." _Mostly talk and get any information he can out of you, _Edward added in his mind, but he kept his expression breezy.

"Oh." Molly looked mildly dispirited, but that passed quickly by. Edward noticed that his coffee had gotten cold.

After she disappeared behind the door, Remus stared at him questioningly. "Isn't he your...superior, or something?" The man shifted uncomfortably. "I thought that muggles had to respect their higher-up officers...in the military...of course, all that I know about muggle government is from the Muggle Studies class at my time in school."

"He is...but sometimes, he's not worth my respect." Edward shot the other man a strange look. "And what is a _muggle_?"

"Oh," Remus blinked, "I suppose you wouldn't know...a muggle is a word for a person without magic. Sort of a slang word, if you may, but only more official."

"I see," Edward said quietly, even though he really didn't. Instead, he pushed away his cold drink and stared at the food in front of him, watching as Remus took some into his own plate and then shovelled some in his mouth. His own stomach twisted, but not in a good way; seeing so much food at one point may have excited him, but now it only served to disgust him.

A moment later, sounds of shuffling and moving could be heard from the stairway. Down came the teenagers, Edward presumed, and he was partially correct. There were the two twins that that had introduced themselves as "Fred and George" yesterday, the other son of Molly's, the girl that he was always arguing with, and a black-haired man with a certain, crazed look in his eye that Edward had seen many times before in Drachman captives.

"Morning!" the black-haired man said cheerfully, patting Remus on the back, causing the him to choke momentarily. "Molly, what wonderful meal have you prepared for me today?"

"Don't make me come over there, Sirius Black!" Molly's shrill voice called from the kitchen. "Flattery gets you nowhere. Can you tell Ron that his clothes are in the wash and that he needs to get them himself? I have no need to have such lazy children..."

"Oh, mum, you still love us!" said one of the twins back, snickering at the other.

Immediately, the daft kitchen was filled to the brim with a warmth that Edward found very unfamiliar. Sure, it had once filled his own kitchen, but now even that place had become strained and cold with the only two inhabitants being himself and Winry. And he had gone and left her alone, causing it to be a more gloomy place, no doubt. He felt a pang of guilt go through him; he'd have to ask when he would be able to get another vacation to visit her.

"Ah, you're the new bloke that's staying with us, right?" one of the Weasley twins (he really didn't care to remember which) said, smiling friendlily at him. "Welcome to Grimmauld Place, the most depressing house on earth!"

Sirius Black snorted. "You got that right."

"I've seen worse," he said, pursing his lips, gold eyes grazing over the uneven beams that somehow magically held up the house. Sirius moved in his seat; even though he hated this place as much as the next person, it was still his house, and having a stranger criticize it (well, was he really criticizing?) didn't bode well with him. Something about this person set him off.

"Well, yeah, I bet you have," someone muttered from down the table, but when Edward turned to see who the speaker was he couldn't discern it from the myriad of faces.

"Anyway, where's Ginny?" Ron said, pushing another spoonful of grits into his mouth. Edward felt something stick in his throat, and he felt mildly disgusted at the redhead's eating habits, even though it was close to his own when he was younger.

"She didn't wake up yet." There was one more person just as disgusted as he. "Chew _slowly, _Ronald! You look like a pig!" Hermione chastised, cringing.

As he watched the teenagers bicker with each other, Edward let his own thoughts wander off. He had been doing a lot of that recently. Ever since Alphonse's..._disappearance,_ he had been focused on the most important of things only. His mind was not littered with useless information and his actions not burdened by equally useless emotions. It served him well, so far. It kept people away, yes, and caused many strained relationships, but he couldn't change now. It was an easy fit, almost too easy, but it was comfortable to keep people at a distance.

Plus, adding to the abject horror of loosing his brother for a _third _fucking time, there was the Drachman war. If their sudden kindness to the Ishbalians wasn't enough to tame the thirst that the land of Amestris had for bloodshed. As if they had to fight to keep on living, which in a way, they did.

Bad thoughts flooded through his head, unwanted, and he shut his eyes closed in frustration. He leaned back against his chair, uncomfortable, and saw the faint vision of red against white in his mind's eye. And he saw a disposed body, covered with soiled snow. And he saw the barrel end of a gun, heard a thudding in his ears that was loud enough to inform that it was his heartbeat.

(_war brings loss and death and hardship but is still necessary_)

He scowled.

"Edward?" a timid voice asked somewhere beside him, and the blond in question opened an eyebrow to meet face to face with Remus Lupin, staring at him curiously. "Are you alright? You look like you were in deep thought, and you also seemed to be a bit troubled."

Despite his concern, he asked, "How did you know my name?"

Remus flushed. "The headmaster held an impromptu Order meeting, informing us all of who you were and your purpose after you and your company retired. You'll be Dumbledore's personal apprentice, I hear?"

"Really?" Hermione's ears seemed to be perked at any mention of academics, especially whenever it included Dumbledore. Brown eyes wide and pliant, she turned to the two golden-eyed men with a smile lighting up her face. "You're going to study directly under Professor Dumbledore? How exciting! Did he tell you what you were to learn yet? Oh, I suppose you're far advanced in the theory of magic to actually be studying under Dumbledore's guide—"

"Miss," Edward cut in, "No offence, but you're annoying."

Hermione stopped in the middle of her rant, her eyes wide and losing their shining quality. Her mouth hung open for a moment, but then she closed it and pressed her lips thin, shifting back into her chair. The redhead beside her, the one named Ron stuffing his face, turned and glared.

"It was just a question, mate, no need to be rude."

"And me and Remus were having a conversation until she _rudely _interrupted," Edward raised a satiric eyebrow at him. "Do you have a rebuttal for that? If not, then don't lecture me on manners." He pushed away his coffee and chair, nodding to Molly who had just walked in. "I'll be skipping breakfast. Not much of an appetite these days."

He walked away without looking back, passing by Mustang as he made his way downstairs. The dark-haired man regarded his charge for a moment with a single, raised eyebrow before turning to the Order, who were all silent at the previous conversation.

"I don't suppose one of you pissed him off, did you?" the General asked, just to be sure. A brunette girl flushed darkly, and he sighed. "I thought so."

"It's not like he said anything really insulting," Harry defended.

"The smallest things these days sets Edward off." Roy told them matter-of-factly. "You have to be careful about what you say around him; he may not look like it, but he's actually hot-tempered." Roy's mind flashed guiltily to the days where he would bait the young blond into his rants and furious escapades. Edward would also run head-first into fights if he could back then. Things had changed.

"Sorry for the intrusion," Roy murmured slightly, sitting down in a spare seat and thanking Molly when she placed a plate in front of him. He began to eat quietly, professionally, and soon enough the chatter in the room increased as more people came downstairs for breakfast.

Roy began to think of what to do; he couldn't help it. It was a natural process for him. After the meal, he had retired to his room, sparing a thoughtful glance Edward's way and then sitting on his bed, facing the wall. Yesterday, his subordinate had been right; he always had a plan, if not an extra back-up one in case things had gone wrong. But for this mission, he was out of his league, even Roy realized that.

These people were _wizards._ _Wand-wielding _actual _wizards._

He didn't know the extremity of their power, or the status of their government, or hell_—_their customs, even! How was he supposed to blend in and somehow look after some brat? He was already up to his nose in looking after Edward, who would be closer to the kid anyway...if he tried. Somehow, Roy doubted that Fullmetal was all that willing to make friends.

It was irritating to admit to himself that he didn't know where they would go on from this, but it had to be done. Roy wondered what the best course of action would be. He could join in Edward's study of the magical universe, by the way that the blond was pouring over his books, or he could go and call a meeting with Dumbledore. But based on what he had heard downstairs, the man was busy and rarely in for Order meetings unless called by himself.

That was disconcerting. What kind of leader allows himself to disappear when his subjects need him the most?

Roy realized that he had gotten to a point where he was not only thinking about the wayward headmaster, but also about himself. He needed to finish this mission quickly and painlessly, like ripping off a bandage. No bonds, no caring, nothing at all. He would provide watch over the boy and let Edward get the answers that he desperately craved for, and they would go back to their war. Their own problems. Just thinking about the Drachman-Amestrian drift made him cringe.

"Oi, Mustang," called Edward's gruff voice, "Can you get me another book? I already finished the ones that—er._.._Mr. Weasley, I think—lent me." He held up a leather-bound book to prove his point. "They're really not that interesting, but hey, at least it's all sticking."

"It's not interesting?" Roy repeated, raising a brow. "I would think that a scholar like yourself would have your interest piqued by a new form of...something that isn't alchemy."

"It was," Edward replied sourly, "But then I read a few pages and realized that it was more about their 'fail-safe' economy and history than _actual _magical theory." He grunted as he stretched, a few pops sounding as bones moved back into place. "I think they want to keep me in the dark. Dunno why, if they want that Harry boy to live."

Well, that was certainly another worrying thing. He'd have to talk to the headmaster about that...whenever he saw him, of course.

"What time is it?" Edward looked around for a clock, but didn't see any. He really wished that wizards were more up-to-date with technology.

"Somewhere a little before noon." Roy stood up and made a stand in front of Edward, crossing his arms. "I heard that you put up quite a show during breakfast. Did you even eat anything?"

The other scowled. "Not hungry."

"Mind telling me what pissed you off so much?"

"I do, actually," he replied stiffly. Leaning back, the blond looked away and muttered under his breath, "It's nothing huge, Mustang. Just a personal pet peeve. Let it go."

Roy rolled his eyes, but complied warily to Edward's wishes. "I'll go ask for more books. Maybe you'll have an epiphany and find why magic is so different from alchemy." There was a dryly sarcastic tone in Roy's voice, and Edward ignored the childish urge to stick out his tongue at the man. As soon as he heard the door close, he let out a relieved sigh and closed his eyes. He was a long way from home.

* * *

_*cough* This was supposed to be longer, but I really wanted to get it up. |_: _Oh, and guys? The Amestrian? It's not really any language in particular—I just made up random words on the spot. So yeah, don't worry about that._

_EDIT: Hey. Sorry about the notice for the extra chapter—it's just that I had written the other part for this, and it was originally supposed to be one chapter only, so here you go. *shrug* I hope you guys will read it again, and forgive me for the lateness, yeah? Great. :D_

**Translations:  
**"_Ni jetuciare shnazade,_" = "I thought they spoke the same language,"  
"_Kie ni buira ma dshce, ho zhuoe seonsgue._" = "There's something going on here, and it doesn't have to do with country boundaries."  
"_Ne, Dumbledore, j__uoe ho jiyeo jhese ceta qui zho?_" = "Hey, Dumbledore, are we speaking in a different language than you?"  
"_Dinnare? Ne, kisama todaoe ho kie nipanos?_" = "Dinner? Wasn't it a little bit after lunch?"  
"_Yeh_." = "Yes," or "It was."

* * *

**.:.**

**to be continued.  
**_11.27.11_


	3. Chapter II: Faulty Communication

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa  
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

* * *

**Fields of Gold  
**_"Sometimes words just can't explain."  
- Michelle Branch _

* * *

It was on this particular morning that Edward felt — or rather, _knew_ — that was something was going to go wrong. It had been nearly a week since they arrived at Grimmauld Place, and he had just finished re-bandaging his wound when he realized that something was going to go on. He didn't know if it was bad or good. It was just a feeling, a prickle in the back of his neck, like he always had when something was about to happen. He would just have to wait and see.

The mornings were no better than the rest of the day, and Edward had taken to skipping breakfast all together. Mustang still provided him with adequate food when needed, bringing up a sandwich or a cup of coffee when he seemed to need it the most. He was grateful, but it wasn't like he was going to express that any time soon.

It was almost six o'clock, actually, when it happened.

There was a tremendous crash, the sound of plates being broken, and he barely traded glances with his superior before rushing downstairs. Immediately, his muscles tensed in case of intruders. He was about to run in and perform standard protocol, but then saw that it was just two more people sitting on the bottom of the floor, tangled in a pile of limbs. He shook his head to Mustang.

One was Remus Lupin, that of which who was helping up a shocking-pink haired, teary-eyed woman. A black-haired, lanky boy beside them straightened and pulled up his suitcase, staring between them carefully.

"Ah, Tonks, I think you need to work on your Apparating," Lupin said gently, letting the woman go. Edward recognized her briefly from the flash of Order meetings that took place in the past few days. He jerked his head to Mustang, telling him silently, _go upstairs. I'll handle this. _

Mustang's eyebrow rose, but he said nothing and complied.

"Wotcher," Tonks said woozily, shaking her head. "How are you holding, Harry?"

"Good," the boy, now identified as Harry, said. "Why didn't we just come through the front door?"

"Ah," This time, Lupin looked sheepish. "I forgot the paper. Without it, we couldn't get in." Tonks rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and Edward decided that this was a good time to come in as any. Making sure it was as casual as possible, he passed through the front door and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Oh, hello," he said in faux greeting. He shifted, staring at everyone warily then landing on Lupin. It was the only familiar face he knew. "Was I interrupting something? I just heard a crash downstairs." He eyed the pile of broken dishes on the floor, fallen from the cupboard. Tonks blushed.

Lupin chuckled. "Sorry if we bothered you, Edward," he apologized. "We just brought young Harry over here—ah, Harry, this is the new member of the Order, Edward Elric. Edward, this is Harry Potter." The name rung many bells. Edward bit his lip to hold back a wry smile at the boy's openly hostile look.

"Pleasure," he said shortly, nodding in Harry's direction. "I'll leave you to it, then. Do you want me to call Molly?" He looked pointedly at Harry's suitcase. He had learned that when there was something to be taken care of domestically, Molly was the one to call. She would go bonkers if you touched something and didn't put it back in its proper place.

"That would be great."

Edward's mouth quirked up slightly and her turned around again, the sound of his uneven footsteps clunking as he walked up the stairs. Molly's room was right across the hall and down the corridor from his, but he didn't need to go that far. She was already on her way down, her brows furrowed in worry.

"Oh, Edward! Did you hear that noise?" She was so anxious that it showed in her eyes.

Taking pity on the woman, he said in reply, "Harry Apparated in with Lupin and Tonks." He tried to sound as professional as possible, using the words that he had heard earlier, even though they were unfamiliar. They seemed to make sense to Molly, though, as her eyes widened and she thanked him quickly before heading down the stairs. A cry of pleasure and Edward knew that it was a happy reunion.

As soon as he entered the door to his room, he told his superior, "Subject has arrived."

Forty minutes later, they were all seated in the dining room, a beaming Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger next to the new addition; Harry Potter. But the boy himself didn't look too happy, and upon second glance, Edward could see that Hermione's smile faltered in places.

"I thought a formal meeting was due," Molly Weasley explained, motioning to both of the groups by hand. "Harry, Ron, Hermione? This is Roy Mustang and Edward Elric," she pointed to each of them in turn, "And they'll be at your school this coming semester."

"Really?" Hermione was the first to speak, her eyes lighting up. "Neither of you look young enough to be students, except for Mr. Elric..." she paused, and then continued when she saw that Edward hadn't glared at her; in fact, all he seemed to do was pout a little. "Are you going to be professors?"

"I will be," Mustang cut in smoothly. "Not for a particular part of the school staff, however. I believe I will be aiding your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." Inside, Roy had to snort; what kind of subject was that? But Dumbledore had said it was so, so that's what it would be.

"I'm too old to be a student, you're right," Edward shrugged. "I'm Dumbledore's apprentice. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand casually, ignoring the flabbergasted looks that the teenagers—and Molly—seemed to give him. He felt a little defensive; was it that uncommon? They had apprenticeship back in Amestris, but it seemed to be rare around here. But Edward had read the manilla file that was always given before missions, and that's what it had said.

He was told that he was to be a student at first, but Mustang said that there were different plans to be made...once more decided by the headmaster.

He was starting to understand who ran things here.

"Now now, lets get Harry all settled in," Molly cut in, flushing. "Enough with all this talk about school! There's still a week left before it starts, yes? Are you kids excited about your classes?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. Ron seemed to flinch and grimace, and Harry simply pressed his lips tightly together, many emotions flashing behind his light green eyes. They recovered when Sirius entered, smiling widely and not spending a moment to reach over to Harry and hug him.

"Padfoot!" Harry smiled briefly, hugging him back. "I haven't seen you for months! How's the occupation?"

"Horrible, Prongslet," Sirius said. "They keep me locked up here like a dog." He grinned crookedly, and for some reason Harry and his friends laughed a little bit. Harry still didn't seem to be in a good mood, by the way that his eyes set downward when he sat in his seat for dinner.

"I heard that you produced a corporeal patronus in that dingy old neighbourhood of yours," Sirius whispered, leaning over as Remus entered with a few other people. "How was it? Did you scare off anything?"

"A couple of Dementors," Harry murmured back. "Don't know if I'm in trouble or not — the Ministry hasn't exactly been cooperating." Sirius clearly wasn't expecting such an answer; by the way that his face reddened, no one had bothered to tell him why his godson had come so early to Grimmauld Place.

"Sirius?" Harry questioned, confused by the lack of answer.

Sirius forced himself to calm down, breathing in and out once. "That was just something that Dumbledore..._forgot _to tell us last night Harry, sorry."

"Wait," Harry interrupted, "Dumbledore knew? And he left me until today to get me from that horrid place? The Dursleys were on my back for the whole day!" At the end of his exclamation, Lupin and Tonks looked faintly abashed (as they should be.)

"You have to remember, Harry, that because you performed underage magic certain measures have to be taken. You'd gotten the owl from the Ministry, haven't you?" Harry nodded at Hermione's explanation. "Well, since Dumbledore got wind of it, he went straight away to the Ministry without stop. He's probably working out your hearing right this moment."

"Hearing?" Harry's cheeks turned red in anger. "I was just defending myself against Dementors! There's nothing that I've done that warrants a bloody _hearing._"

Hermione grimaced. "Try explaining that to the Wizengamot. There should be some loopholes in the law...especially about a minor in the scene of danger..." She trailed off thoughtfully, finger tapping her chin. "I think I'll ask Dumbledore the next time I see him to be present at the Wizengamot. I have some researching to do."

Ron snorted. "That's Hermione. If anyone can get you out of this mess, Harry, it's her and her books." Most of the sentence was grumbled, but you could tell that there was genuine fondness in his voice. Hermione smiled at the hidden compliment. Harry had to shake his head at his friends' obliviousness.

When Molly brought in platters of food for dinner, Harry took a moment to inspect the newcomers. Granted, he was one himself, but the people in the Order were ones that he was _familiar _with. Edward and Roy were not. They barely looked English; more a mix of something Eurasian. They also stayed pretty quiet, talking under their breath and in incoherent mutters. The blond one, Edward, looked a bit annoyed.

He also had sharp eyes. Edward turned slightly and set a decidedly irate glare on Harry. "Is there something you needed?" At his blank look, he continued in a level tone so that others didn't hear, "You were staring at me for quite some time."

"I've never seen someone with your colouring, is all," Harry blurted out the first thing in his mind. Edward looked taken aback by this, blinking in bewilderment. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. "I never saw a person with gold eyes..." Remus looked more faded-yellow the more he thought about it and compared it to the colour of Edward's eyes. "Are they natural?"

He knew that it sounded pretty rude, but there was nothing else to make up for his slip. Edward sighed. "Yeah, they are," he said, sounding like he had this conversation many times before. "My dad had them too." And he turned abruptly back to his own conversation. Like nothing was said between them at all.

* * *

Harry did not see Dumbledore for the rest of his stay at Grimmauld Place. He was told that the headmaster _did _come by, however, and it made Harry wonder why he didn't stop to explain the whole process to him — god knew that someone needed to. Hermione said at dinner that night that she was able to have a short, five-minute conversation with Dumbledore before he Apparated away.

Arthur Weasley was the one that was escorting him to the Ministry, Harry found out hours later. It was all planned and prepackaged; Tonks would follow afterward, then Kingsley Shacklebolt. It was all there, and Harry found himself anticipating tomorrow; he patted his hair down nervously, even though there was still a good twelve hours left before his hearing. For some reason, Harry knew that he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

Hermione burst in through his door looking completely upset, a few moments later. Harry was jolted out of his thoughts, for he was thinking about Fred and George's new joke shop and Sirius' awful denial of accompanying him to the Ministry. He didn't know where his thoughts had taken such a dark turn, and he actually felt a little grateful at Hermione's abrupt appearance.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, her lips pulling down into a frown, "I can't go with you to the hearing!"

Harry blinked. _Did she just say what I think she said?_ "What do you mean?" He began to feel even more panicked. While people assured him that Dumbledore would be there, Harry was already planning how he was going to pack his trunk for home and face the Dursleys for the rest of his life with no magic. He was hoping, at least, with Hermione there he would be able to lighten the opposing side for a while, maybe even win. He knew that it wasn't his fault on that night, but with such a corrupted government (that seemed to hate him quite a lot) he knew that there was no way that he could win.

And now, he had no hope. Hermione sniffed and dropped beside him on the bed. "I asked Dumbledore, and while he said that he would be delighted to bring along a student to observe the Wizengamot, your hearing is strictly need-to-know. Which means only the most important people will be there." She shook her head, brown curls flying. "I can't go, no matter what he says."

"W-what about an invisibility cloak?" He was clutching at straws, and they both knew it.

Hermione looked miserable. "How would I go there? Someone would feel it if I side-apparated, and Dumbledore seemed much to grave to allow me to go with him." Usually, Dumbledore would allow this sort of thing...to be sneaky in their own ways while he turned a blind eye...

"Oh." Harry's heart seemed to drop in his chest. He didn't even notice how Hermione began to hesitate on her words, especially when referring to herself. The Gryffindor bookworm bit her lip and played nervously with her fingers.

"Well...there might be one way." At this, Harry raised his head and gave her a blank look. Wasn't she just telling him that there was no way that she could go before?

Hermione continued. "_I _can't go, but the Decrees of Magical Binding states that if a member of the Wizengamot has any immediate blood relative, witness, or magical student, they are allowed to go to minor cases and take part if they wish."

"So there's no hope."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said in the sighing, patient way, "It's all written in old forms. Magical student? Apprentice? Dumbledore has one, remember?"

"Edward?" Harry said, incredulous. "I barely know the bloke! Besides, it says 'minor case', remember?"

"This _is _a minor case. A hearing for expulsion? It's nowhere near the amount of power you need to be able to enter a meeting for a murderer or user of one of the Unforgivable curses. Edward could go..." here, she continued reluctantly, "...but I'm not sure if he would, or if he would even be able to redirect the Wizengamot's favour."

"It's better than nothing," Harry reasoned in the end, after a pause of thinking. "Can't you — can't you like, teach him or something? Tell him what he needs to say?" When Hermione didn't answer, Harry said, "Come on! You can't be scared of the guy."

"We don't know him," said Hermione simply. "We don't know where he's from, what he's doing here, or if he's even telling the truth. He can't even speak English; Dumbledore's put on a long-lasting translation charm on him."

"So you _are _scared," Harry observed, filing away the language-barrier comment for later.

Hermione ignored him. "I'll try to talk to him, and see what he thinks about it. Maybe he's already read the book of Ministry structure...I remember it in the pile of books that was brought because I wanted to read it..." Harry rolled his eyes; even though she didn't verbally say it, he knew that she was more than hesitant to go and talk to the newcomer.

"I'll come, if you like," he offered.

She shook her head again. "No, it's alright. I'll talk to him myself. You _won't _be convicted, Harry."

* * *

Edward stared at Hermione uncomprehendingly, his face blank and lost. His arms were folded, and all throughout her harried explanation he had not moved an inch or changed his expression. When Hermione finished with a large breath of air, he told her flatly, "I have no idea what you just said."

She coloured. Her tone was decidedly contrite. "Would you mind going to Harry's hearing tomorrow? It's important, and Merlin knows that all of the Ministry hates him. They'll be biased about their final verdict."

"Hearing? Ministry?" He was completely over his head in wizarding terms. They sounded familiar, and Edward knew that he must've read them in a book. Oddly, something in his mind literally _pulled _— he recognized the feeling and pushed it back. "What's your friend in trouble for?"

"Underage magic."

"And that is a big deal...why...?"

Hermione huffed. "That question requires long hours of discussion and theoretical thinking, Mr. Elric," she said, not expecting him to completely understand her. After all, neither Ron nor Harry did, but to her surprise, the blond simply rolled his eyes.

"Then you can discuss it another time. I'm asking what the big deal is about me coming to your friend's hearing. Obviously, if he's in trouble, its for a good reason?" The last part came out more as a question than statement. He looked up, thinking to himself. "...something sounds wrong in that sentence."

"It's because Harry didn't _deserve _to be charged," Hermione said, frustrated. "There were Dementors in his neighbourhood — nasty, soul-sucking creatures — and there's only one spell that rebounds against them. Thankfully, Harry knew the spell well, and he performed it, saving his and his cousin's life from a near-soulless life. The Ministry, however, sees this as a breach of their Underage Magical Contract. Because of Harry's age and his status as the Boy-Who-Lived, they're putting an ever harder time on him."

Edward recalled the books that he had read on the Boy-Who-Lived. There had been many, citing the 'Dark Lord' Voldemort's most horrendous actions and a detail-by-detail explanation of the Hallowe'en that Voldemort had been defeated. Like they were actually there.

"Ever since the beginning of the summer, our wizarding paper _The Daily Prophet _has been saying that the Dark Lord hasn't returned, even though Harry _saw _him — and _fought _him — last year. At first, it was to calm the crowds down, but now they're getting borderline obsessive on trying to make everyone believe that he hasn't returned yet. There are insinuations that Harry is a liar in the most recent ones, that he's making all of it up. Anyone with a proper eye and mind can see it — it's only a matter of time before they call him an attention-seeker and liar outright."

That was a problem, Edward realized, but it wasn't his problem. So he continued in that flat expression of his. "So?"

"So? _So_, you being Dumbledore's apprentice, you can go in with him and provide an argument with the Wizengamot about his trial! It's going to be completely unfair, especially with Minister Fudge — " she cut herself off, looking grim.

"What's in it for me?" Edward suddenly asked.

"Wha—" Hermione was speechless. "What do you mean?"

"You can't expect me to do that just because you _asked _so," Edward said, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "This is politics you're talking about. Not my strongest suit. And you're not even giving me something that would constitute equal payment in return."

"P-payment?"

Edward sighed. "I live by many rules, and this is one of them: _In order to obtain something, something of equal value must be lost. _Meaning, you give what you get." He crossed his arms. "Your friend, Harry, is the Boy-Who-Lived; do you expect me to go to a hearing just because of that?"

Hermione's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Her cheeks turned a light pink.

"What if it was another student? What if it was that redhead friend of yours? Would you still ask me to go and defend him? Would you still go this far just to get him out of trouble." When she didn't answer, he smiled smugly. "My point is given. But I don't really care about your feelings on the matter; you want me to help your friend, what will you do to help me in return?"

Hermione paused and lowered her head, deciding not to look Edward in the eyes lest he figure out the workings of her inner thoughts. Molly had given Edward and Roy one of the more dilapidated rooms, but one of the most spacious ones. She took note of the many books that were on his bedside, her mind going miles a minute. She also took care of the notes that he left on the tableside, scribbled in a language made up of lines and boxes and characters.

And then she got it.

Hermione's face brightened in resolve as she looked back up at Edward, who had started to absentmindedly rub his right shoulder. "I know!" she said a tad bit loudly, causing him to jerk slightly in surprise. "You're studying about our wizarding world and culture, right?"

"Right..."

"Well, I bet you can't find most of your answers in those books." She nodded to the said pile distastefully. "All of those are Ministry standard, which means that you'll find nothing in them. Nowadays, the Ministry has been working to keep most of what's happening in the wizarding world to a minumum to not frighten the citizens."

"Which means they've been witholding information," Edward picked up quickly, frowning. He turned to the books then back at the bushy haired girl. "Go on."

Hermione smiled. "I have a ton of books that will help. With actual magical theories and arithmancy and anything that you might need, I have it. Plus, I can explain to you whatever you don't understand. I'm sure that we can work out something."

"Knowledge for knowledge," Edward summarized, something akin of respect in his eyes. "Fair play. You've got yourself a deal." He held out his hand, and Hermione shook it with a satisfied expression.

"When do you want to start on studying?" she asked, going straight to the topic. "Or rather, could I review all the terms and conditions of the hearing with you? Harry's hearing is tomorrow, and there should be no room for errors."

"The second," Edward said decisively. He walked over to a corner and picked up a leather-bound book, small against the rest. It was stuffed with papers and stick notes, and it seemed old. But the way Edward held it, close to his chest, told her that it was important. "I can always study the magical world later. It seems as though your friend is more important at the moment." Of course, he wasn't going to tell her that this helped many to his mission, seeing as how he needed to keep and eye on Harry.

"Thank you," said Hermione, eyes shining. She pressed her lips together in a grateful smile, and Edward had to wonder where the line between friendship started and ended with Harry. "Come with me — there are more informational sources in my room, and Harry's already told me what happened that night with the Dementors."

"Hn." Edward followed after her outside, when something hit him. "Wait. How am I supposed to go along? Will Dumbledore even take me along?"

Hermione hesitated. "Technically, you're allowed to go, being Dumbledore's disciple. It gives you the high advantage...I just don't know if Dumbledore will agree to it. It's a risk that I have to take, though."

Edward was silent for a while. Her words reminded him of another woman's, one whose hands were much rougher and whose eyes were much brighter.

_"I have to do this, Edward. If I don't she's going to die."_

_"You don't know if it'll even work! What if something goes wrong? What if...what if she..."_

_A thin smile. "It's a risk I have to take, Ed." _

"Alright," Edward said, surprising Hermione. He had been quiet for at least two minutes now, the only sound being their breathing and the moment needed to think over things. "We'll see tomorrow morning. If Dumbledore doesn't let me go, I'll tag along anyway."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, although she stared at him a little strangely. "Thank you again...you don't know how much this helps Harry..." Edward could read her gaze and her frown. While she was begging him to help before, now that he was giving his help up freely, she was getting suspicious. Edward had to watch himself around this girl; she was clever.

"We had a deal," he shrugged, using that as an excuse for his behavior. "I intend to see it through."

Hermione nodded. She knew the importance of knowledge the lengths people would go to get it. "Okay then. Follow me."

* * *

"I've got updates on the mission," was the first thing Edward said when Roy came back from his impromptu tour of some place called Diagon Alley with some of the other Order members. Mustang seemed tired from before, but he immediately became attentive, closing the door silently before taking his coat off.

"You should be more discreet," he started to say, but Edward's impatience cut him off again.

"There's still a week left until we get to this school, and I intend to use every minute of it," the blond informed him. "I've made a deal with one of the students — information for information," he echoed his earlier words. "It's a good deal."

"You make it sound so emotionless," Mustang mused. "What info could you possibly have that someone else would want?"

"It's actually a bit of politics. I just have to go to that shitty hearing tomorrow, and case solved. Apparently, the amount of importance that this person holds to that meeting and the amount of information I wish to obtain is equal."

"That must be one hell of a number."

"It is," Edward said wryly. "And it'll help too. I won't have to depend on these crappy books to give me information," He glared at the pile, which was previously stacked up neat and in alphabetical order, now in messes on his bed. Some where open, some weren't, and there were sheets of paper which Mustang recognized some Amestrian words in Edward's neat scawl and some glyphs that he didn't comprehend.

"Who's helping you?" Mustang asked, picking up a piece of paper and starting to go through the notes. He frowned on the first word. "And what language is this?"

"A girl named Herm-something." Edward stood up and snatched the paper out of Mustang's hands, giving him an irritable stare. "And don't read that. It's important. I doubt you can, anyway."

"Then warning me is completely pointless," Mustang snorted. "But really, what is that? Xingese? I didn't know that you were a polylinguist."

"It's Xerxian, but I do know Xingese. The scripts are similar. Those are the only languages I know Mustang." Edward rolled his eyes, causing his superior officer to smirk at him. The blond didn't know what was going through the other man's head, but Edward turned away and started to clean up his mess on the bed.

In the silence, he could suddenly feel his senses getting sharper. He could hear every breath that he and Mustang breathed in, like it was through a magnifier. His hands worked on their accord, feeling the paper — well, with one hand anyway — his fingers running over the edge of the rough paper. He bit his lip and felt a sort of grudging anxiety, like what one feels when they know they have to do something but is trying to hold it off as long as he or she could because they didn't like it.

Finally, Edward turned around to see Mustang sitting on the bed on his side of the room, patiently waiting. The blond felt vaguely annoyed, but then asked, "Alright, explain to me about all the politics and shit that I have to remember tomorrow."

Mustang's smirk only became wider. Edward resisted the familiar urge to punch it off his face.

* * *

**.:. **

**to be continued.**  
_12.29.12_


	4. Chapter III: A World In Grey

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiromu Arakawa  
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

* * *

**Fields of Gold  
**_"And the shadow of the day  
will embrace the world in grey."  
- Linkin Park_

* * *

"You're early," said Edward Elric as he observed a white-haired man appearing out of the fireplace. To be truthful, the blond was surprised and had a good mind to transmute his arm-blade out of habit before he forced himself to stand down. It was just Dumbledore, but _honestly,_ the man shouldn't sneak up on people.

Dumbledore, in turn, looked up to see Edward. His face didn't hide his surprise well. "Ah, what a chance to see you here, my dear boy! It is early, I suppose, but I always go my meetings at least an hour early." His face smoothed into a smile as he patted down his robes. "It's common courtesy."

_I should say that to Mustang,_ Edward mused to himself. On the outside, he said, "I actually wanted to talk to you for a minute, Dumbledore. That alright?"

"Of course, my boy," said Dumbledore. There was a mysterious twinkle in his eye that Edward found himself starting to despise. Twinkles were untrustworthy. "As long as it doesn't make me late, I suppose I'll be just fine. Come — I suppose this isn't something you want others to hear?"

"Good call," Edward agreed. He followed Dumbledore into the hallway, where it lay vacant at the moment. He knew that it would slowly fill will the teenagers, so he had to make it fast. Edward realized that Dumbledore was trying to get him to hurry up in his own subtle way. This hearing was important to him as well...

"I want to go along," he said bluntly to the older man, rendering Dumbledore temporarily speechless. "Me and my superior officer both agree that this is a good chance for me to get a bearing of your government."

"A bit of scrying, is it, Edward?" Dumbledore mused. "Or do you choose to accompany me for another reason?"

Peering at Dumbledore, Edward found that the man already _knew._ His goddamn twinkling blue eyes were looking at him in a way that told him that he already understood the whole thing, actually sort of expected it. It was the same look Mustang often had when he came back from another goosechase mission, instead learning that he had fixed another tick mark or Mustang's to-do list. He clenched his jaw tightly, but then his lips pulled up in a thin smirk. "You better get Mister Potter if we're going to be there on time."

"Ah, I believe Molly is on that," Dumbledore said sombrely, nodding. "But we have a problem with you, Edward my boy."

"Oh?" He didn't see any problem. Hermione had explained it all to him the day before. What loophole had they both missed?

"Your attire!" Dumbledore raised his wand, smiling in a way that made Edward think he was a lunatic. More than he already did, anyway. "For the Wizengamot—the Wizarding court and jury, as I'm sure you know—to believe that you are my apprentice, you might have to look the part, yes? Appearance is the best deception."

"You want me to look like a crazed old man?" Edward asked incredulously, eyebrow raising despite how rude his comment sounded. Nevertheless, Dumbledore only chuckled in his all-knowing way.

He raised his wand, giving a little flick of the wrist with no warning. "_Ambigus._"

Edward blinked, stepping back slightly as he felt something heavy and _transparent _fall over him. With a rush, he realized that this was _magic_; he looked down to see that over his regular clothing consisting of threadbare trousers and white shirts was a long robe that fell all the way to his calves, leaving room to show the fighter boots that he never seemed to throw out. The sleeves were long and there was an emblazoned crest on the breast pocket, completely gold with one blue stone. It was nice enough, he supposed, even though it made him feel slightly girly.

"Ah, now I think you're ready to play the part, yes?" Dumbledore put his wand in his robes, letting it disappear from sight. He took one glance at the staircase, then toward Edward. "It seems as though Harry will be a little late. Come along, Edward — you and I will see him there. Take my hand."

Edward shot him a dubious look, a bit disbelieving that they could really leave _at this second,_ but took Dumbledore's hand anyway.

There it came again, that horrible feeling of something pulling in just around his navel. Edward resisted the urge to throw up. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of balancing himself, making sure that all of him would be together at the other side.

When his bottom and hands met bare floor he let out a sigh of relief. Reaching at the top of his head to fix his hair and his no doubt mussy appearance, Edward brushed himself off and stood up next to Dumbledore, just a little grouchy at the difference in height.

Then he looked around approvingly, taking notice that they were standing in the middle of a long hallway. The tiles on the floor were made of dark blue marble and the walls around them seemed to shimmer and flicker in different colours. The whole place set him on edge; there was crackling power through the air, and if it was any more imminent Edward suspected that he would be electrocuted by it's energy.

On the left side there were a long row of fireplaces, the insides glowing with bright green flame. He watched with surprise as the fire flared up brightly and someone walked out, not looking at all hassled or burned in any way. Edward looked around him to see for any abnormalities, and found none; it was like he had walked through a door. The blond raised his eyebrows. Mustang would sure like to take a crack at figuring out that fireplace.

"Come along now, Edward m'boy," he heard Dumbledore say. The old man was walking at a leisurely pace, making his way somewhere. People gave him a slight nod of the head as he passed. Edward lengthened his pace to catch up with him. "We have to make sure that we're there before young Harry comes in."

Choosing not to say anything, the blond alchemist raised an eyebrow and followed after, gazing around him in a sort of calculated daze to take everything in. There were specified areas where the magic seemed to be stronger — almost thicker, actually — and some places where it seemed to be thinner, all telltale with the thin wisp of blue electricity that seemed to cut through oxygen like silk. He kept this information to himself. Perhaps Mustang could see it too? He did not see any witches or wizards pay any attention to it as he did. The blue mist swirled around their heads and wands as they said incantations and spells, and yet they didn't notice what he did.

The courtroom was about the same size, he estimated, as the examination room back at Amestris for his State Alchemist exam. It was a circular room with booths on the edges. Directly across from him was what he supposed was the judge's desk, seeing as how it was larger and taller than all the others and was currently inhabited by who Dumbledore informed him was Minister Cornelius Fudge.

Beside him was another woman, a flashing nametag on her maroon robes; Amelia Bones, the woman that would be keeping track of the proceedings. And then there was another person on his side who looked fairly important, and then another, and another, and it went on and on until Edward saw that every seat in the room was filled.

It seemed as though Harry was a bit more important than he had originally thought. And this was definitely more than just a simple case of 'underage magic', as Hermione had put it.

"Dumbledore," greeted the Minister with his lips tightly pressed together. "How wonderful it is to see that you are able to join us." His eyes flickered to Edward, and with poorly disguised curiosity, he asked, "And who might that be behind you? I'll have you know, Albus, that no one other than the people needed for processions is allowed in —"

"A good morning to you as well, Minister," the headmaster cut in jovially, and Edward had to stiffly back a smile at the rude interruption that the old man had covered up in sincerity. "This is my apprentice, Edward. He's asked to come to see the case. And with his insatiable curiosity, who was I to say no?" Dumbledore chuckled.

Edward pushed down the familiar seethe of anger at being called a 'boy', implying that he was small, perhaps even _short _— it was just Dumbledore, and in Dumbledore's eyes, Edward had to admit that he was still a child compared to the old man's years. But it did not mean that they were not equal on intellectual status...maybe.

Remembering the proper manners that Hermione had installed into him the night before so that he wouldn't look like a complete fool, he grit his teeth and pushed all his emotions down. Bowing, he said swiftly, "Pleasure to meet you, Minister. I hope you don't mind my presence."

At his crisp English and the scary resemblance of his golden eyes, seemingly holding all the knowledge in the world and resembling Dumbledore in that manner, Minister Fudge started to sweat a little and nodded. "No, of course, go on." He, of course, also knew that there was nothing against the rules that said that an apprentice wasn't allowed. "Please, take a seat. I do hope that your charge, Mr. Potter, has been informed of the change in time for his hearing. It wouldn't do for him to be late."

"Even if he was, you'd reschedule, wouldn't you?" Dumbledore asked merrily.

It was then Edward's attention was brought to someone else in the room with them. Though the general chatter had quietened when he and Dumbledore had entered the room, it rose to a point that it became almost like white noise in the background. It was almost impossible to make out one distinct voice from another unless you were listening properly, but Edward knew — the second he heard that voice — that he would be able to pinpoint it anywhere from then on.

It was a sickly sweet tone that was slightly nasal-like, reminding him of an overbearing aunt that also had a cold, except perhaps a bit more...disgusting? The voice belonged to a balloon of a woman, who made Edward's eyes hurt by just looking at her.

Her skin was blotchy and discoloured, thought one could see that she tried to hide it. Her nose was puggish and her eyes were two beady black holes embedded into her head. Tufts of dirty blonde hair fell from her shockingly pink cap, and it seemed that under her traditional courtroom robes she had on even more pink attire. The woman — if you could call her that — brought her arms on her own separate desk right next to the Minister's and folded them, revealing just as chubby fingers and webby nails.

She spoke, saying almost disproportionately to her mouth, "The Minister is a very busy man, Mr. Dumbledore. I'm sure you'd understand that he has a lot of work to do, and not all his time can be wasted on one boy's misgivings." If he focused properly, Edward could detect a tone of dislike coming from the woman. Taken aback, his eyes flickered to her flashing nametag; _Dolores Umbridge. Senior Undersecretary. _Whatever that was, it sounded important, judging from her self-praising expression and her spot near the Minister.

"Of course," Dumbledore replied humbly. "How silly of me." He motioned for Edward to follow him, which the blond did. "I suppose this is were we shall be residing for the next hour. Oh, Miss Mathil! What a pleasant surprise to see you here..."

Edward raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore's disinterest in the case. Didn't he care about Harry at all? Wasn't that what drove the man to this hearing? What was the conversation from before, then?

Frowning, he took an empty seat on the bench and clutched his fingers together, hearing the slight creak under the dim. Dumbledore sat down next to him a second later, his face wiped of all pleasantries from earlier. He looked around to see others following the same, their chatter quieting down.

The Minister hit his gavel, silencing the whole courtroom almost immediately.

"If all witches and wizards are present, we'll begin the trial of one Harry James Potter immediately."

Edward gave the room one surreptitious glance, knowing that this was one of the few times he had ever been in a courtroom **—** he barely understood the basics for Amestrian law, forget Wizarding ones.

Dumbledore seemed to know what he was thinking. "Please watch carefully, Edward," the old man said softly, leaving Edward to wonder what he was going to do. "I understand that you're here on the account of a friend, but please allow me to show you how to handle the Ministry as so."

Edward just _looked _at him in a way that reminded Dumbledore of an old mentor, like someone who was here but not to participate in any way — just to watch over, observe. He pursed his lips. "He's not my friend."

The trial began.

* * *

To say that Hermione was nervous was a huge understatement. She had never been more nervous in her entire life. At first it might seem a little uncounted for; after all, it was just a silly little trial. Harry hadn't been in the wrong. He had done exactly what was to be expected of him, and he succeeded at the same time. It should have been over and done with any other student by now, the whole situation blown over. One promise and an _obliviate _would cure everything.

But Harry wasn't just any other student.

He was the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who decided to open everyone's eyes to what they refused to see; the return of Lord Voldemort. And Hermione knew that Fudge was one of those people. She also knew that because he couldn't touch Harry, not while Dumbledore was there, he would attack in the only way he knew how. Politics. And as long as Harry was in Fudge's jurisdiction, anything could happen.

Hermione was beginning to beat herself up over this. How could she was Edward to go? Sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but looking back on it, she began to regret it. How would he, who just became aware of the Wizarding World a few days ago, win a hard-pressed trial with a biased judge? He knew nothing of the Wizengamot's proceedings, despite what she had taught him. Hermione had been desperate, and that had been enough to satiate her desperation at the moment.

Dumbledore would be there, she knew, and she trusted him to make everything right again. But there was still a part of her that dreaded looking at Harry's hopeless face as his wand was snapped in two in front of him, held back by a simple, life-altering mistake...

Calming herself down, she reached for the light on her side-table, knowing that she would be unable to study for the rest of the evening. She had to focus on the words on the pages, do the habitual studying that she always did before school began, but for some reason her eyes would wander.

Finally, she gave up with a sigh and shoved the book away, pushing back a strand of her hair behind her ear and standing up with a slight stretch. Ever since Harry was ushered out of the house with a tense Lupin claiming that the times had changed and they were late, she wasn't able to relax. All of her felt as tightly drawn as a blind.

Hermione jumped about ten feet in the air when the sound of a loud bang interrupted the stillness in her room. Nerves in a bundle, she dashed down the stairs to see what the ruckus was all about — only to have two twin menaces yelling across the room: "_HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF!_"

The meaning of their words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, Hermione felt all the tension leave her body. She spotted Harry's face, smiling amongst the crowd and rush toward him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"You weren't convicted!" she told him excitedly, pulling back and smiling. But for some reason while she, Ron, and most of the Order were overjoyed, Sirius laid back at the edge of the table, subdued. And Harry — he didn't seem as happy as he could've been.

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron plopped down on the wooden chair beside him. "C'mon, smile! You're not getting your wand snapped and you get to spend a whole 'nother year with us."

"Sounds grand," Harry said truthfully, giving his best friend a smile for what it was worth. "But...I guess I'm just a little frustrated about Dumbledore. I was hoping I could talk to him after the hearing, at least thank him, but he disappeared as soon as it ended."

Hermione frowned. That was unusual of Dumbledore. Aimlessly, she remembered how the headmaster wished for her and Ron to not contact Harry over the summer. "What about Edward?"

"I didn't get to talk to him. I saw him though, with Dumbledore. I think he left with him."

"He should be here, then. Dumbledore would've dropped him off." Hermione craned her head to look at the mass of people that were all talking cheerfully with one another, despite the proverbial dark cloud hanging above their heads. "Do you see him?"

"Why do you want to see the bloke so much?" Ron asked, crossing his arms. "I'm sure he's brilliant and all, but I doubt he did anything — "

Harry cut his best friend off before the redhead could go further. He knew that tone of voice; it usually ended up with someone storming off for the night. "He's over there, by Sirius." It was then that he noticed that Sirius wasn't up and about like Harry though he would be. The dark-haired man was sitting quietly by the side with Edward talking to him softly, and Harry felt a pang of — well, something. He couldn't define it.

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Harry. I'll be back in a moment."

Edward had never been particularly fond of trials, never was, never will. And though he didn't like proceedings as simple as a teenager's stay in a school, he had to admit, the amount of bigotry in one courtroom alone made his skin crawl with anticipation. He wanted to shoot some of those bastards down; their claims ridiculous, their reasons absurd. Mustang would cringe. Hell, even Edward was fighting to face-palm at the end.

Thing was, the Minister's cheap way of trying to get Harry into trouble was as see-through as glass. He didn't do a very good job of it either, and Edward thought that perhaps Hermione was giving the Ministry too much credit; they couldn't win a trial against a seven-year-old. Dumbledore handled the whole thing, like he said he would, and Edward sat back to the most boring vindication of his life. But the end was certainly interesting.

It seemed as though most of the Wizengamot didn't seem to be all that stupid. They had voted Harry free, of course. And while everyone was heading out single-file, Dumbledore ushered him to leave the room quickly. They went out into an empty hallway and Dumbledore told him that the woman, Dolores Umbridge, would be working as a professor at Hogwarts — and that Edward should be careful around her.

The golden-blond particularly didn't care. The grotesque woman in pink could be the freaking ruler of the world, and he wouldn't give a damn.

Back at the Order, Edward stood awkwardly to the side as he waited for the festivity to be over. Yes, he understood that Harry's education was important, but Christ — did they have to treat it like someone had given them a miracle?

He stood by a sullen-looking man, intrigued. He wasn't celebrating like the others, but Edward could have sworn that this man was somehow important to Harry. He just couldn't remember...

"I see someone's not happy," he stated dryly, surprising both himself and the man.

The dark-haired male turned around for a second, and then sighed. "It's not like I'm not happy. I'm glad that my godson's able to go back to school — he loves it there. But, I suppose..." _His godfather,_ Edward thought, resisting the urge to say 'duh'. Of course.

"Be happy anyway," the blond said. "If he sees you acting depressed, don't you think that he'll start crying buckets after you?"

"Harry doesn't cry buckets," Sirius said in defiance, and surprisingly, the corner of Edward's lips twitched up. But before their conversation could continue, there was the sound of someone clearing their voice. Hermione stood behind Edward, giving him a tentative smile.

"Edward," she started, "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something...and hello, Sirius," she greeted at the end. "Harry's been looking for you."

"I'll be sure to talk to him later then," Sirius replied sullenly, the spark from before dying just as quickly as it came. Edward gave the man an exasperated look and then followed motioned for Hermione to continue, prodding her to move to a more private spot where they wouldn't be heard.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione calmed herself. "How was the trial."

"Just fine," the blond replied. "Dumbledore took care of everything. Though I have to say...your government is really fucked up." Hermione jolted a little, shocked by the vulgar language, but Edward just shrugged. "I didn't see the purpose of me being there. I was sort of... a liability. Personally, I believe you were a bit paranoid."

"I wasn't being paranoid," Hermione said, a crinkle forming between her brows, "Did Dumbledore seem a bit off?"

"He's always off, isn't he?" Edward grumbled. "No, he was fine. He would one hell of a lawyer."

Hermione's face flitted in a smile just for a second, but it disappeared. "So nothing happened? Nothing odd at all? No one out specifically to get Harry or whatever?" Hermione twisted a piece of her hair between her fingers. "Harry said that Dumbledore was in a rush to get out, almost desperate."

"He said that he had something to attend to," Edward relayed Dumbledore's conversation with him earlier. "He did tell me that you would have a new teacher at your school, though."

Hermione seemed to perk up at the news. "A new teacher? Who?"

"Some Dory woman," Edward waved off. "I don't know. I forgot. She was horrendous, though."

"She's most likely the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor then," Hermione muttered to herself. "What did you say her name was, Dory?"

"Something like it. The last name started with an Um..."

"Um?" Hermione blinked. "Are you unsure or..."

"No, Um. As in, u-m." Edward reassured gruffly. Suddenly, he seemed to realize something. "Wait a minute. You...you knew that I wouldn't need to step in, didn't you?"

Hermione flushed pink. "I sort of figured," she admitted.

Edward remained stonily silent, but in his head, he was mentally cursing himself to being bested by a teenager. He really needed to stop being so easily lured by information. "Thank you anyway, Edward." Hermione said, brown eyes wide. "Even if you didn't mean it, you've helped me a lot. If you've got any questions, you can always ask me."

Edward didn't grace her with an answer.

* * *

_Alright. So I know a lot of you are mad at me...why? Because I've updated this after who knows how long x . x. Life got in the way and all...this probably won't be updated as much, as I haven't fully returned from my hiatus. Plus, I can't seem to find my notes on this story, including all the plot/details/notes that I'm written down, so I'm going to have to write them all over again (if I even remember.) _

_Also, I've forgotten a good portion of the fifth book (read: all) so I'm going to have to reread that (despite how boring it is) and plan it all and...just...it takes time. But thank you all who've been following the story since Murder and Suicide and all those other characters that I can't bear to remember._

* * *

**.:. **

**to be continued.**  
_7.16.12_


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